


Seems like we're headed for another losing streak.

by barthelme



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ansel is an asshole, Armie is the worst but also the best, Armie loves Timmy's ankles, M/M, Saint Nick because of fucking course, Saoirse is the new Nick, Timmy is a very serious cheerleader, Timmy is dramatic, so that i can sleep at night, they are both eighteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15901620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: Timmy never planned on being the kind of guy that met football players under the bleachers in the middle of the night. It just happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The camp counselor AU is exhausting for me to write, so here. Have this.

Armie did not realize Timmy knew how to throw a football let alone knew how to throw a football that _hard_. 

"The fuck, Chalamet?" Armie rubs the side of his abs where a red mark is already forming. Stares at Timmy, who is wearing his full cheerleading uniform; long, red polyester pants and a matching short-sleeve shirt with "Ponies" written across the chest. Armie grins. 

"You fucking know what," Timmy says and in two strides is in front of Armie. Shoving him against the lockers. He hears Nick whisper, "Oh shit," under his breath. Timmy holds a hand against Armie's chest and knows Armie could slap it away. Knows he could easily push Timmy across the locker room. Out the door. He doesn't. "You seriously think you can forbid everyone from asking me to Homecoming?"

Armie shrugs. "Well, to be fair, I don't think anything. I know it." 

Timmy huffs and pulls back. Looks around at the rest of the football team who are pretending to look busy. Well, most of them. Nick is recording the exchange with his phone. "You are so fucking--"

"You know, you could very well have a Homecoming date because I've asked you like a hundred times."

Timmy shakes his head. Folds his arms over his chest. "No, you didn't ask me, not even once. You said," and he deepens his voice to a monotonous drawl to mock Armie, "'Hey, Timmy Tim, what hotel should I book for our post-Homecoming romp?' like a fucking neanderthal." 

"Which _implies_ that I want to take you Homecoming, does it not?" He looks over at Nick for assurance. "Does it not, Nick?"

"I am not getting in the middle of this," Nick says.

Timmy turns his back to Armie, who whips his towel off and playfully snaps it towards Timmy's ass as he storms to his own locker that is clear on the other side of the room. Twists his lock left, right, left again until it pops open. His street clothes are folded neatly underneath his backpack and normally, he would shower and change into them, but today? He's not giving Armie the satisfaction of seeing him walk to the showers in nothing but a jock strap. Yesterday? Yes, maybe he did do exactly that and he possibly even winked when he saw Armie staring. But now? After being turned down by the French exchange student because " _Hammer a dit que tu es interdit_ ," Timmy is not in the mood. He unzips his bag, shoves his clothes in and pulls his phone out. Zips everything back up and slings his bag over his shoulder before slamming his locker shut. 

When he turns around, Armie has sweatpants on and a soft gaze directed at Timmy, which he immediately shakes away when they make eye contact. Armie licks his lips, "Aww, come on Sweet Tea. Not going to shake your ass for me today?" 

Nick is thumbing through his phone. Says, "Armie, he might actually kill you one day." 

Timmy almost walks out without saying anything, but he hears Armie snicker, "Nah, he would never do that. He wants to choke on this fat cock too much," which garners laughter from a few of his teammates. 

He stops steps from the door and closes his eyes. Counts up to five and then back down. _Don't say it, don't say it, don't say--_

Whips around and spits, "Yeah, I'm just begging to choke on the cock of someone who is on his second stint as a Senior. Which, I keep forgetting to ask: are you actually dumb or did you purposely fail last year because you know you have no future once high school is over? You're a fucking joke, Hammer." 

The locker room goes silent and Timmy walks out.  
_____

When he gets home, Timmy doesn't stop in the kitchen to give his mom a hug and kiss. He drops his bag in the entryway and takes the stairs two at a time. Brushes by Pauline in the hallway without a hello, and then slams his bedroom door. Presses back against it and smacks his head against the wood Relishes in the dull throb. Kicks it with his heel and pounds a fist. "Timmy?" Pauline raps on the door. "You okay?"

_No, I'm not fucking okay. Does it seem like I'm okay?_

He nods and pushes away from the door. "Yeah. Practice was annoying. Just want to take a nap." Timmy toes off his shoes and kicks them to the side. Pulls his shirt off and throws it at the hamper. He knows he should at least wash his face before laying down, but, "What-fucking-ever," he sighs before collapsing on his bed. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he debates ignoring it. He knows exactly who it is, even though the guy in the locker room and the guy texting him right now couldn't be more different. Knows perfectly well that whatever was said in the locker room can be erased by some emojis and soft words. 

In the end, he waits thirty-seconds before rolling on his side and pulling his phone out. Unlocking it. 

hammer: _the answer is im actually dumb_

Timmy rolls his eyes and drops his phone to the bed. Squeezes his eyes shut and formulates texts. Erases them in his mind. 

_yeah you fucking are_  
_no you're not im sorry i said that_  
_sometimes. but i'm still sorry i said it._  
_fuck you_  
_delete my number please_

His phone vibrates again and Timmy doesn't even hesitate. 

hammer: _want to meet at our normal spot tonight? 9?_

"Our normal spot," Timmy laughs. Licks his lips and knows exactly what to say in response.

timmy: _how can it be our NORMAL SPOT when we haven't met there since MAY when you said we should cool it off when i wouldn't let you fuck me ten feet from a fucking dumpster please explain how that can be our NORMAL SPOT._  
timmy: _because NORMAL SPOT would imply we meet there regularly and that anything about our FRIENDSHIP OR LACK THERE OF IS NORMAL_  
hammer: _so that's a no?_

Timmy throws his phone across his room. Flinches when it hits the wall harder than he had planned.  
_____

Timmy never planned on being the kind of guy that met football players under the bleachers in the middle of the night. It just happened. 

"You're good," Armie had said after the last home game of the season. He'd just gotten out of the shower and Timmy was still gathering his shampoo and soap. They were the last two; Armie hadn't seemed in a hurry and Timmy always wasted time after games. It felt weird being in the locker room when he wasn't part of the team. He didn't have a dumb nickname, didn't get their inside jokes, and didn't really even care for football. "Like, better than the other cheerleaders."

Those were the first words Armie ever said to Timmy. Even though they shared a homeroom, even though they had shared a locker room for three years, even though Timmy was a fucking _cheerleader_ for Armie's _football team_. 

"Oh, thanks," Timmy shrugged and grabbed his towel. Closed his locker and set everything down before pulling his shirt off and dropping it to the floor. Pushed his pants off his hips. Stepped out of them and looked up just in time to see Armie drop his towel. He was facing his locker, so, yeah, maybe Timmy _looked_ a little harder than necessary, but at the time he thought this was his only chance to see Armie Hammer's naked ass and not be judged for staring. "Sorry about the game." 

Armie shrugged and pulled on his briefs. "Whatever, it was a shit season anyways." Turned around and gave Timmy a once over. Eyes lingered in placed that made Timmy want to hide. Instead, he licked his lips. "Going to the party tonight?"

"No. Not really my thing."

Armie nodded. "Want to hang out?"

"I need to like," Timmy waved towards the showers. 

Armie pulled on his sweatpants and sat down. Slipped his feet into his flip-flops. "I can wait." 

And that's how Timmy ended up lying on Armie's letterman jacket. How he ended up staring at the sky through metal bleachers, biting his lip too hard. Armie's lips on his neck, hand down Timmy's pants. Roughly jerking him off while panting, "Been wanting to do this for like two years." Grinding against Timmy's thigh. Begging, "Please, can I suck your cock? I need you in my mouth, fuck." Not waiting for an answer. Scraping his teeth, hard, along Timmy's neck and then pulling back. Pushing Timmy's pants just enough to get his cock out. Somehow, contorting his body to squeeze and bend between Timmy's legs. Looking up quickly before asking, "You okay?" 

Timmy nodded quickly. "Just peachy." 

"Good," Armie said before wrapping his mouth around Timmy's cock. 

Timmy never planned on being that type of guy, just like he didn't plan on Armie asking for his number afterwards. Like he didn't plan on Armie saying, "Text me when you've made it home, okay?" and kissing his cheek. Or two nights later when he got a text.

hammer: _bleachers at 1030?_

So, he never planned on it, but it happened and continued to happen until the end of May.  
_____

Timmy doesn't nap. He listens to the silence of his room. Maybe, just maybe strains to hear if his phone vibrates. Lasts almost ten minutes before he rolls off the bed and retrieves his phone. 

timmy: _im still not fucking you_  
hammer: _we can just talk._  
timmy: _fine. 9:30 though._

"You're such a fucking idiot," Timmy whispers to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Timmy knows exactly what he's doing when he "forgets" his hoodie at home. 

"Where are you going?" Pauline asks from the living room. She's taking up the entire couch, resting a bowl of popcorn on her stomach. One hand holding a few of the popped kernels to her lips; she doesn't look away from the television. 

"Out," Timmy says before passing by. Grabbing a handful of popcorn and standing in front of her. "Seriously, how do you watch this shit?" She forced him to watch exactly one episode of _Hoarders_ and he was in an absolute funk for a week. 

Pauline shoves at the back of his thigh. "The same way you watch _Bring it On_ like twice a week."

"That's classic cinema," Timmy laughs. Slowly eats the handful of popcorn while Pauline tries to shove him out of her view. 

Pauline sits up and scoots over so she can see. Slaps the back of his knee so his leg buckles a bit. "Where is out?"

Timmy finishes the last piece and shrugs. Walks to the door. "Just out." Checks his watch. 9:20. He'll be a little late, but Armie deserves to wait. 

_But what if he doesn't wait? What if you get there and he's gone and you're wearing this stupid t-shirt that you wore the first fucking time and--_

"Timmy, you're not meeting him are you?" Timmy stops at the door. Holds onto the handle. Can hear Pauline sitting up, placing the popcorn bowl on the table. "For the love of God, that guy is a complete asshole and do you _remember_ June? How you dragged your feet around and wasted the entire first month of--"

"I'm not meeting Armie, okay? I'm just going out." He opens the door and immediately tightens his fists. It's colder than he expected. 

_____

Armie is not under the bleachers. 

_Of course he fucking isn't. This was all one of his dumb fucking jokes. I bet he's here--probably with Nick--just fucking laughing and--_

"Jesus, why don't you have a coat?" Armie asks from above. He's peaking through the bleacher seats, near the top row. 

Timmy doesn't smile, but he wants to. He wants to run to the end of the bleachers and take the steps two at a time. Forget that; he wants to step on the bleacher seats and take long strides up. Stand in front of Armie, watch him smile and let him rub his hands up and down Timmy's thighs. Wants to be pulled onto his lap and wrap his arms around his neck. Kiss the tender spot behind his ear that makes Armie curse. Feel the taut stretch of his abs press against his cock when he leans into him. 

"It's September," Timmy says and shoves his hands in his pockets. Walks too quickly to the end of the bleachers. Slows down. When he gets to the stairs, he takes them one at a time. By the time he reaches Armie, he's already taken his letterman jacket off. Timmy can barely notice where they removed the previous year's numbers and replaced it with his own graduating year. Armie's new graduating year. 

"It's still cold," Armie says and throws the jacket over Timmy's shoulders. 

Timmy shrugs and sits down. Pushes his arms through the jacket sleeves and smiles when his fingers can't find the ends. "It's not that cold," he comments while Armie sits next to him. He's wearing a long sleeve t-shirt with "Ponies Football" ironed to the front, and he doesn't hesitate before wrapping an arm low around Timmy's waist. Underneath the jacket, thumb digging in, holding on, just above Timmy's hipbone. 

"I didn't think you'd come," Armie admits. 

Timmy nods and tries to not lean into Armie. Tries to not rest his head on his shoulder, drape one of his legs over Armie's. "Almost didn't," he lies, and then scoots back until his ass drops off the cold bleacher and he can rest his back against the sharp edge of the seat behind him. Scrunches his nose when Armie's touch is gone. "But it was this or watch fucking _Hoarders_ with Pauline, so."

Armie snorts and Timmy doesn't push him away when puts his hand on Timmy's knee. "Glad to know you like me more than _Hoarders._ That's a start."

"I never said I liked you more than _Hoarders_ , I'd just already seen the episode she was watching," Timmy says before arching his neck and staring up at the sky. 

_Why do you fucking do that all the time? Why can't you just be nice to him instead of being an asshole like you are to fucking everyone. Why can't you just let this happen. Why are you such an asshole._

The stadium lights are off and Timmy can actually see the stars. 

"Well, I like you more than _Hoarders._ I like you more than a lot of things," Armie admits. 

"What about football? Do you like me more than football?" 

Armie's thumb is rubbing circles on Timmy's kneecap. He scoots closer and lets his hand run down Timmy's leg. Cups the side of Timmy's calf through his jeans. Timmy know he has good calves. You don't jump around for two or more hours a day and not have good calves. He knows where Armie's destination is, though, and grins when Armie has to lean a bit to pull up Timmy's pant leg enough to slide a finger across the inside of his ankle. "Yeah, I guess I do." He wraps his hand around Timmy's ankle and leans down further. Kisses his kneecap. "Do you like me more than cheerleading?"

Timmy grins and closes his eyes. Shakes his head, "Not a chance." 

_Why are you this way?_

Timmy opens his eyes as Armie laughs and squeezes Timmy's ankle. "I hate you." Sits up and lets go of Timmy's ankle, leans back like Timmy and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Tilts his head to look at the sky. Quietly adds, "Keep being an asshole and I won't suck your dick anymore."

"Well, I don't really want you sucking my dick anymore, so," Timmy rolls his eyes. Looks over at Armie who looks confused. _Is he really this dense?_ "You made it very clear in May that this," Timmy licks his lips and takes a breath. "That we aren't really a thing. And I'm still not ready to--" Timmy cuts himself off before he reveals too much to Armie. 

(Timmy never said it, but he thought it the entire time. 

The ground hurt his knees and Armie seemed huge. Timmy knew he was big but glancing at a cock in the locker room is a hell of a lot different than being face to face with it. "Don't be such a fucking tease," Armie laughed.. He ran a hand through Timmy's hair, tugging his face upwards a bit; the other was lifting up his shirt an inch. Armie's pants were bunched at his ankles and he was leaning against one of the larger support beams under the bleachers. Timmy looked up as Armie said, "I've heard the rumors. No need to be shy." 

Timmy blushed because he'd heard the rumors too. That he hooked up with a few guys at Summer Cheer Camp his freshman year. That he was like a "god damn cock vacuum" who liked it a bit rougher. A bit rougher, a lot harder. Hair pulling, slapping. 

Quickly whispered, "Don't pull my hair, please," before opening his mouth and closing his eyes. Wrapped his lips around Armie and wished his mouth didn't feel so dry. Pulled back and swallowed. _You want to do this. You've wanted to do this for years. Get it the fuck together or he won't talk to you ever again._ Ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his gums. "Sorry," he whispered," before opening around Armie's cock again. Taking him in a few inches and sucking softly at first, then harder, harder until he felt Armie's hand tighten in his hair. Froze for a second, but then Armie's grip loosened and he groaned above Timmy. 

"Fuck, they weren't kidding," Armie breathed out.

_No, they were lying, though._

Timmy pulled back, pressed forward. Found a rhythm that made Armie's left thigh quiver and stuck to it. And when Armie hissed, "Use your hand, fuck. Jerk me off , please," Timmy didn't hesitate. One hand jerked off Armie while he sucked on his head and the other lost itself in his own pants. Even though he had just come in Armie's mouth minutes ago, Timmy was hard again. "Fuck, you love it don't you?" Timmy opened his eyes and glanced up at Armie, who looked equal parts amazed and adoring. "I can come in your mouth, right?"

_Oh, God, yes please. I need to taste all of you, Armie._

He nodded softly and closed his eyes again. Took more of Armie in his mouth and sped up his hand until Armie was breathing like he did after running suicides. _Why do I know that he breathes differently after suicides than he does after agility drills what is actually wrong with me?_ Until Armie's hand was firm on the back of Timmy's head, until he could taste Armie coating his mouth ( _He tastes like me but better, oh my God,_ ), Until he was coming in his own pants. Timmy pulled off Armie's cock and sat back. "That okay?"

Armie's eyes were closed. Mouth open. "Mmhhm," he murmured. Nodded.

Timmy never said, "This is my first time," but he thought it the entire night.)

"And, 'Armie Hammer doesn't do relationships,' but Timmy Chalamet does, so," Timmy moves to sit up. Wants to stand up and attempt to walk away, knowing Armie will try to stop him. Armie's arm tightens around Timmy's shoulders. "This was a bad idea, anyways. I don't know why I thought maybe things would be--"

"Let me take you to a movie." 

Timmy stiffens. "Yeah, ha ha really fucking funny, Armie." 

("Want to get dinner?" Timmy asked on a different night. He pulled his hoodie back on and straightened the drawstrings. Pressed a finger to the spot on his neck Armie had bit down on when he came. Pressed harder, harder, thought, _are you fucking stupid? Did you really just ask Armie fucking Hammer out?_

Armie was buttoning his pants. He looked up, all the expression in his face devoted to questioning Timmy. "Like a date?" Timmy nodded and looked away. "No, no, no, Timmy. Let's not fuck this up by bringing emotional bullshit into it, okay?"

Too late.

"Anyways, I'm a terrible boyfriend."

Probably.)

"I'm serious. You can even pick one of those dumb chick movies and I'll pay. All you have to do," Armie's other hand reaches across their bodies. Cradles Timmy's chin and turns his head sideways. "Is give me a kiss." 

Timmy rolls his eyes and yanks his head away from Armie's hand. Stands up, even when he feels Armie's fingers trying to dig into his shoulder. "Yeah, okay. On your dick, right?"

He steps down a row and turns to face Armie, who leans forward. Rests his elbows on his knees and hunches down just enough for them to see eye to eye. "No, on my mouth. One kiss and I'll take you to a shitty movie and hold your hand the entire time." He raises his eyebrows. "And, you can keep my jacket."

Timmy's fingers curl at the end of the jacket sleeves. Bites his lip. "I don't believe you."

"The offer isn't going to last all night," Armie teases. "I'll even pick you up."

_Yeah, I'm sure he will. I'm sure I won't look like an idiot peaking out the front window every four seconds. I'm sure Pauline won't say, "I fucking told you so," when he never shows._

Timmy shifts his weight back and forth. Left, right, left, right. Center. 

_But what if he does show up? What if he does hold my hand the whole time?_

"You're still not sucking my dick tonight," Timmy whispers before leaning in and kissing Armie.  
_____

Timmy locks his front door. Leans back against the wood and smiles up at the ceiling. "Oh my God," he whispers. Brings his hands to his face and laughs into them. Rubs a finger along his lower lip. He can still taste Armie's bubblemint gum. Bounces on his toes a bit. 

"Oh. _My_. _**God**_ ," Pauline says from the living room. "I can't decide to scold you for being an idiot or make fun of you for acting like like a middle school girl."

Timmy smiles and wraps Armie's coat tighter around his body.  
_____

It takes Timmy most of the morning to decide if he's going to wear Armie's jacket to school. He's almost out the door sans coat when he gets a text. 

Armie: _morning :) i liked talking with you last night_

And then he was bounding up the stairs and grabbing the coat off his bed. Slipping it over his Ponies Cheerleading hoodie. 

"Don't say a word," Timmy says when Saoirse spots Timmy outside the school. She's sitting on the front steps, tapping her toe and glaring at Timmy. "He actually asked me on a date and this is different than last--" 

"Timmy, seriously," Saoirse stands up and puts her hands on his shoulder. Pulls him in for a hug and it's tighter than normal. Constricting. "I told everyone it wasn't true, I said you were with me last night, we can say we were studying, okay? It'll all blow over and--" She pulls back. Flinches when the football team starts filing past them, walking towards the school.

Timmy turns his head and tries to spot Armie in the sea of red. He's met with a few fingers pointed his way and thinks, _It's the jacket,_ and smiles. "What are you fucking talking about? I was with Armie last night--"

Ansel is one of the last of the football team to start to ascend the stairs. He slaps Timmy's back and winks. "Yeah, you were with Armie," he cups a hand over the side of his mouth and yells, "Getting fingerba-a-a-anged." He shoves Timmy's shoulder. Adds, "Nice jacket," before following the rest of the team inside the school. 

Timmy looks back to Saoirse, mouth open. Sputters, "We didnt--I didn't--we just--we kissed but--"

"I know, I know, I believe you," Saoirse says and wraps Timmy back into a hug. It's softer. She cups the back of his head and pulls him into her shoulder. 

Timmy closes his eyes and hides his face against Saoirse. Wishes she would let go for a second so he could take the jacket off. It's too big, too heavy. 

_Don't fucking cry,_ Timmy tells himself. _If you cry, he wins, and he's not going to fucking win this time._

It already feels like a loss.


	3. Chapter 3

By the end of second period, everyone knows. By lunchtime, Timmy's old nickname has returned. He's standing in line with Saoirse when Ansel yells from across the cafeteria, "Yo, Hoover, where's Armie's jacket? You earned it after all!"

"Ignore him," Saoirse says with an eye roll. "If you tell him, he'll just go dumpster diving for Armie's jacket like the fucking suck-up he is."

(Timmy said he was going to throw the jacket in the dumpster. He promised Saoirse, but he couldn't do it. Shoved it to the bottom of his locker and covered it with with his backpack.)

The line moves and Timmy grabs a small box of Lucky Charms and a banana. Thinks twice and puts the banana back, opting for an apple instead. Granny Smith. 

"You have to eat more than that," Saoirse says. She's piling her plate with pizza, nachos, and chocolate milk. "The invitational is this weekend, right?"

Timmy nods and follows behind her. Grabs an ice cream cup and a spoon. "Yeah, but that's basically just practice, you know?"

"You still have to eat, idiot." Saoirse leads them to one of the smaller tables in a back corner. Timmy can feel eyes on him. Can hear snickers and catches faint whispers of, "Bleachers last night....let Armie...I knew he was a slut, but," and he keeps his head low. Tries to keep his hands steady, but his box of cereal tips on its side. His apple rolls around his tray; threatens to fall off. When they finally make it to the table, Timmy sits too close to Saoirse. Takes a bite of his apple and wipes a drop of juice from his lower lip. Stares at the Lucky Charms. "We should go to an apple orchard next month," Saoirse says and Timmy loves her. 

"Yeah, there's one like an hour from here that my family usually goes to." He sits up a bit straighter, glad to talk about anything but the obvious. Glad Saoirse knows not to ask, "Are you okay?" twenty different ways. His phone vibrates in his pocket, just like it has been doing all morning. He ignores it. Looks up and scans the cafeteria. The football table is loud and Timmy can't decide if they're louder than normal. "You should come with us. My family likes you more than they like me, anyways."

_Maybe they've forgotten already. Maybe they've moved on. Maybe they're not even talking about me right now, maybe Armie told them to knock it off, maybe--_

"Hey, Hoover, he's not here," someone yells. He can't figure out whose voice it is. "Doctor's appointment, probably getting tested after hooking up with you."

Timmy takes another bite of his apple and leans against Saoirse when she wraps and arm low around his waist. "I'd love to go with your family," she says.  
_____

Timmy never stopped the rumors from Freshman year. Fourteen year old, cheerleading, ballet-class taking, debate club Timmy was _not_ popular. Worse, he wasn't even one of the kids who got picked on. He was a complete nobody and one of the most embarrassing days of his life was in English class when his teacher chose partners for an assignment. When she called out, "Ansel Elgort and Timothée Chalamet, you'll be presenting on chapter twelve together," Ansel looked around and mouthed, "Who the fuck is Timothée Chalamet?" And the girl next to him shrugged. Even though Ansel went to Kindergarten with Timmy, even though they had the same classes, even though Timmy made an effort to say "hey" to him every time he saw him in the halls. 

So, yeah, Timmy was so far under the radar that he could probably have worn a shirt that said, "I'm good at sucking dick," and no one would have noticed. But, because the rumors started, suddenly everyone knew who Timothée Chalamet was. He even had a nickname and--at first--he thought it was crass. Thought it was mean. Maybe it was, at first, but eventually he was getting pats on the back. Winks. "Morning, Hoover," Ansel said one Monday. Threw his arm around Timmy's shoulders and asked, "Hook up with anyone this weekend?" And Timmy responded, "You know I don't kiss and tell," and Ansel laughed and walked him to his class. 

So, no. Timmy never stopped the rumors, but Pauline tried. The more she defended Timmy, the more she said it was a lie, the bigger the rumor became. 

Timmy knows he has two options: ignore the whispers and jokes for the next few weeks or just own it.  
_____

The warning bell rings before last period and Nick grabs Timmy's elbow. Pushes him against Timmy's locker. "Armie said you're not texting him back. What the fuck?"

Timmy laughs and yanks his elbow away. "What the fuck? Are you seriously--" He licks his lips and pulls his Calc textbook to his chest. Wraps his arms around it. "I haven't been checking my phone today. Some of us want to pass senior year on the first try so I've been doing this thing called paying attention in class, asshole."

"Timmy, you need to talk to Armie, okay? Trust me on this." 

Timmy shoulders past Nick and starts walking towards his class. "Yeah, he can find me, then. I'm not wasting time on--"

"He was out today," Nick falls in step next to Timmy. 

Timmy nods and tries to walk faster, but Nick is a fucking remora, latching onto Timmy's side. Shoulders bumping every few steps. "The doctor, right? Getting tested because I'm such a slut?" 

"I told them to knock that shit off. But, Timmy, please, he's really--"

Timmy walks into his classroom and throws, "Don't give one single shit what he really is at this point," over his shoulder. Doesn't bother looking back at Nick. Doesn't bother going to his normal seat. Sits in the back corner and opens his book to where his worksheet from the day before is tucked. Makes sure he's put his name and the date on the top.  
_____

What happened at cheerleading camp was this:

The last night of camp, Timmy got his first kiss in some hotel room littered with workout clothes and empty Gatorade bottles. His hands were sweaty and he was pretty sure he was doing everything wrong, so he let the guy (whose name he didn't even _remember_ ) roll him onto his back. Let him nip at his neck, his collarbone, ask, "You like sucking dick?" and Timmy had never had someone talk like that to him. He liked it, but he also didn't and then he could feel the guy's dick against his hip and thought, _Shit, shit, fuck, abort, abort, abort,_ and froze. "Yeah, I guess." Stared at the ceiling and licked his lips. His breath stuttered when the guy moved a bit, balancing above Timmy and there was the sound of a zipper and Timmy breathed out, "I have a boyfriend. I--fuck. I shouldn't be here." 

Which was a God damn _lie_ but whatever. Whatever, because the guy sat up and Timmy couldn't look at his face. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm sorry, we were," Timmy noticed the popcorn ceiling. Felt the mattress exhale as the guy stood up. Heard his zipper. Hoped the movement was up, not down. "I mean, we were having a fight and I just," _what are you saying just tell him you don't want to do this._

"That's fucked up, dude. Get the fuck out of my room, that is fucked up." 

So, Timmy did and by the time he was boarding the bus the next morning, the rumors had already started. "So, I hear back handsprings aren't all you're good at," Liz (senior class president, future Prom Queen, squad captain, perfect human in Timmy's eyes) joked and patted the seat next to her. "Tell me everything."  
_____ 

Timmy debates telling his coach he's not feeling well. That he hurt his ankle and maybe should take the day off. Practices a limp for a few steps but remembers the invitational is this weekend. "Fuck," he rolls his eyes and walks into the locker room. 

The door hasn't even closed when Armie is shoving him against the wall, hard. "What the fuck is going on?" He spits when he talks and it sprays against Timmy's cheek. His chin. Timmy flinches. Jumps when Armie slams his hand against the wall next to Timmy's head.

"Oh, I'm a disease ridden slut, that's what's going on, I guess." Timmy tries to push Armie away, knowing it's useless. Armie doesn't budge. 

"What are you even talking about? I was at the dentist and then--"

Timmy shrugs and tries to press back further against the wall. He can't look at Armie; that's always his mistake. Every time he's tried to stop, every time he realized that whatever this _thing_ they have is never going to be a real relationship, every single time Armie fucks up and Timmy is _done_. Every time, he makes the mistake of looking Armie in the eyes and seeing the guy who tells him he's beautiful when Timmy's at his most vulnerable. Who laughs at his jokes and makes sure he comes first. The guy who texts "hey it's been a half hour and you didnt text--did you make it home okay?" 

The door slams open and Armie sighs. "Timmy, seriously, just--"

"You two need a room?" Ansel jokes. "Going to let him go all the way this time, Hoover?"

Timmy closes his eyes and bites the corner of his mouth. Sucks softly on the skin. Makes the decision to own it instead of ignoring it. "Well, last night he came in his pants like a thirteen-year-old, so I'll let you know how things turn out, Ansel. You might have to bat clean-up."

Timmy's not even sure if that phrase makes sense, isn't sure if Ansel is even listening, isn't sure if he's gone way too far or not far enough. He opens his eyes and the Armie from last night--

("No, no, no," Armie whispered when Timmy tried to crawl in his lap. Tried to wrap his arms around Armie's neck, tried to deepen the kiss."Let's slow down. I want to slow down."

Timmy had been simultaneously disappointed and thrilled.)

\--is gone. Timmy knows the whole team is there. Knows they're watching. Armie says, "I knew you were a slut, but I didn't think you were a fucking asshole, too." Pushes away from the wall and Timmy exhales. Watches Armie walk to his locker. Notices Nick try to grab Armie by the elbow, say, "Armie, can we--" but Armie yanks his arm away and tells him to get ready. They're going to be late for practice.  
_____

Timmy avoids Pauline when he gets home. Locks his bedroom door and crawls under his comforter. Closes his eyes and feels his phone vibrate. 

_You can cry here, at least,_ he thinks and pulls his phone out. 

Hammer: _hey i have appts today but i'll see you in the locker room okay :)_  
Hammer: _god the waiting room is awful and all they have are people magazine. who is noah cyrus is she related to miley_  
Hammer: _tiiiimmmmyyyyy talk to me i'm bored_  
Hammer: _hey woah nick just said there's shit going on at school_  
Hammer: _why aren't you talking to me_  
Hammer: _timmy i didn't start this rumor okay you believe me right? i haven't even been at school i haven't even texted anyone but you today_  
Hammer: _timmy? seriously?_  
Hammer: _you know i wouldn't say something like that_  
Hammer: _you know me_  
Hammer: _im skipping my eye appt can you skip your last class so we can talk_  
Hammer: _i told nick to find you please timmy i'm almost at school_  
Hammer: _im here nick said you didn't believe him_  
Hammer: _you really fucking think i would say that_  
Hammer: _after last night? seriously? you were ready to keep going and i said we should go slow because i fucking like you_  
Hammer: _i guess i am 'actually dumb' to think you would date me_

"Fuck me," Timmy whispers as he scrolls to the most recent text, the one that just came in. 

Hammer: _btw ansel started the rumor but fuck you very much for thinking i would do that_

His phone vibrates in his hand. 

Hammer: _you can delete my number_

Timmy turns his phone off and tosses it to his nightstand. Buries his face in his pillow and finally lets himself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't yell at me; I'm a soft, fragile human.


	4. Chapter 4

By Friday, the whispers have stopped and Timmy isn't being called "Hoover." Likely, this has to do with Ansel's black eye and busted lip, and Armie's in-school suspension (which would have been a week suspension if he weren't Armie Hammer, the only good player on the football team.) There are still looks and averted glances, but for the most part, things return to normal.

Timmy does his best to avoid running into Armie. He takes the long way to class, stays late after the bell to collect his things, and uses the bathroom in the freshman hallway. The few times he does see him, it feels like freshman year all over again. Armie walks by Timmy like he would one of the inspirational posters on the wall or a talent show announcement.  
_____

Saoirse is not a fan of Armie. She was the first person Timmy went to when Armie broke up with him in May, if you can even call it a break up.

(They'd been meeting under the bleachers regularly and sometimes, usually, Armie would walk into school with his arm around Timmy. Timmy never touched him, kept his hands in his pockets so it looked casual. So it didn't look like he'd let Armie lick his ass the other night, arms braced on the beam in front of him, sweatpants pulled down to his thighs, legs spread to keep them up. In case there were headlights, voices. Footsteps. In case someone changed their mind.

It didn't feel like a relationship; Timmy was pretty sure Armie was hooking up with other people. There were nights when he'd be late or not show up. Nights when he'd cancel when Timmy was already on his way to the bleachers. When he was already there. They talked, usually afterwards. Sometimes before, but rarely. They talked, at first just about football and cheerleading, but eventually about colleges. About how Armie was failing three classes and maybe wouldn't pass. How it didn't matter because he wasn't recruited. "That's all I had going for me," Armie said.

But it was _something_ and that night, Armie was sitting under the bleachers, waiting. Cross-legged, biting his nails. "Hey," he said when Timmy walked up. Made room on the blanket for Timmy [he'd started bringing a blanket because Timmy didn't like rolling in the dirt. Hated scrubbing grass stains out of his uniform] and gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Hey yourself," Timmy said and sank down. Dropped his bag at his side. Knees bent, hands wrapped around his shins. Leaned his head down on his knees and looked at Armie. "Didn't see you in school today."

Armie licked his lips and looked up. The light from the moon was coming across as stripes due to the bleacher seats and Timmy could have sworn Armie's eyes were red. Puffy. "I skipped. And I'll be skipping the rest of the year because I'm dumb. I'm fucking dumb."

"What happened?"

Armie shook his head and pulled his hood up. "I failed, just like everyone thought I would. They even let me redo the last term paper and I still didn't pass."

"Why can't you do summer school? Just walk this year and get your diploma in the summer. You can still start college in the--"

"This is my second time taking the class. They won't let me do summer school, especially because I'm already failing Senior Seminar and history." Timmy had never seen him like this. Not when they lost 27-0 to the worst team in the conference, not when he didn't win homecoming king, not when he was picked as Vice-Captain for his senior year. "I'm not like you, Timmy. You're good at cheerleading, you're smart, you're funny. You have a fucking future. If I'm lucky." He wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I don't know why you even--"

"I don't think you're dumb," Timmy whispered. Reached out and rubbed Armie's back. Debated pulling him in for a gentle hug, but they didn't _do_ gentle hugs. Instead, moved to straddle him. Sat in his lap and wrapped his arms around Armie's neck. Let Armie get comfortable, stretching his legs out. Put his arms around Timmy. Rested his head against Timmy's chest. "I like you. I like you a lot."

There were a lot of things Timmy should have done. He should have kissed Armie's forehead and pulled back to note the dampness of Armie's eyes. Said, "We don't have to do anything tonight. We can just talk. We can figure this out." 'We' because he wanted them to be a we. Because he felt they were a we. Knew Armie probably needed a 'we' right about now.

Instead, he let Armie nose his way up to Timmy's mouth. Suck on Timmy's lower lip and then opened his mouth to him. Eventually, Armie fell back on the blanket and ran his hands up the back of Timmy's sweatshirt. Whispered, "I need you," into Timmy's ear and moved a hand to his crotch. Let the other slip down the back of Timmy's sweatpants. Fumble to get beneath his underwear.

"Armie, I--" Timmy started, not wanting to stop this, but maybe trying to slow it down. Take it somewhere else. He tried to sit up, but Armie's lips felt so good on his neck, hand felt good palming his cock. And, fuck, fuck, fuck, his finger was right there. 

Recently, he'd thought about this a lot. Too much. In the shower, in the locker room, in class. In bed when he knew no one would walk in on him. He'd press his index finger against himself, soft like he wished Armie would do. Like he wanted Armie to do. So, he didn't stop him. He groaned and kissed Armie. Could taste beer on his tongue and knew, fucking knew he should stop this before it went further, but then the tip of Armie's finger was rubbing, soft [just like Timmy imagined], against his hole and he wanted this.

"I want to be with you," Armie whispered. "I love being with you."

Timmy pulled back a bit, looked down at Armie. Smiled. "I--" and Armie was pressing his finger in. Timmy's jaw went slack, not necessarily with pleasure, but with want. For this moment, for Armie. For whatever this was, right here.

"Do you--Do you like that?" Armie stuttered and if Timmy didn't know better--hadn't heard the rumors of all of Armie's away game conquests, locker room fucks, and house party romps--Timmy would have thought he was nervous. Would have thought this was uncharted territory. 

Timmy nodded and shifted down to rest his cheek on Armie's chest. Closed his eyes and let Armie work his finger in and out. Grit his teeth at the harsh push and pull. Asked, "Do you have lube?"

He felt the rumble of Armie's chest. The pull of his finger. Armie's lips on the top of his head. "Don't you?" Timmy tensed. "I mean, I figured you had it in your gym bag for like," and the push of his finger.

_He thinks you carry lube around because you're easy. He thinks you hook up with random people like he does. He thinks you're a slut. He believes all the rumors because you've let him._

Timmy's eyes opened and he saw the dumpster ten feet away. Litter in the grass and football sleds stored under the bleachers. It all reminded him of popcorn ceilings and empty Gatorade bottles in hotel rooms. Timmy scrambled for a lie, but instead said, "Armie." Lifted his head and winced as Armie pulled out. As he tentatively moved his hand to Timmy's ass cheek, not pushing, not _really_ touching, just stopping. "I don't want to--"

Armie's head fell back against the blanket and Timmy hadn't noticed Armie was looking over Timmy's shoulder before. Straining to watch the movements he was making under Timmy's sweatpants. "Yeah, okay. I get it." His voice was empty, disappointed and in the following days, he'd hear, "I get it," in his ears. Spiraling in his stomach and aching in the front part of his skull. 

In minutes, Armie was shoving the blanket in his backpack and Timmy was slinging his own bag onto his shoulders. "We should probably like, knock this off," Armie said. Gestured at the bleachers. "Cool it off for a while, you know?"

Timmy nodded and walked home. Didn't bother looking for a text from Armie.)

Saoirse is not a fan of Armie, but she may be Timmy's biggest fan. She says, "The locker room was basically your dumpster fuck move," and Timmy knows she's right.

_____

It's a bye week and the football team is making sure the entire lunchroom knows there is a party at Nick's house. Notice: not that the entire lunchroom is invited, but that there is--in fact--a party at Nick's house. They're talking loud enough that Timmy can hear snippets of their conversation and he's reminded why he only makes short appearances at these things. Grabs a beer that he rarely finishes, mingles with the cheerleaders, throws joking insults back and forth with Armie. Usually leaves with enough time to go home, get something to eat and brush his teeth. Meet Armie under the bleachers.

Armie doesn't look as enthused as his teammates. His back is to Timmy, hood on his red Ponies Football sweatshirt (Timmy has worn it many times. So many times that he can feel the pilling on his arms, the back of his neck) pulled up, and he's hunched over a tray heaped with food. Timmy knows it's him, because of his shoulders, because of the way he doesn't put his food down between bites, the dumb way he nods whenever Nick jokes. The big "19" on his back. The rest of the team is wearing their letterman jackets. Timmy sighs and puts his burger down.

"I fucked up," he says. Gives a quick look to the football table and then over at Saoirse. "He was going to take me to a movie tonight. Like, actually pick me up in his crappy car and buy me popcorn and then I--"

Saoirse cuts him off. "And then you assumed that he started a rumor like an asshole since he has a history of being a giant fucking asshole, especially to you. Which is fair, if we're being honest. You both fucked up." Saoirse is not Armie's biggest fan, but she is Timmy's only rational friend. She takes a drink of her milk and adds, "But, it might have helped if you didn't like, admit to the rumor being true. That was a dumb move." 

It was beyond a dumb move.

**Things Timmy Could Have Done Differently (Instead of Lying Like Normal):**  
1\. Ask Armie to go talk anywhere else but the locker room.  
2\. Answer a fucking text at some point during the day.  
3\. Just ignore every single fucking thing Ansel ever says.  
4\. Say, "I don't know, what the fuck _is_ going on?" when Armie first shoved him in the locker room. And then listen.  
5\. Just about anything except confirming a rumor (which spread even further by the time practice was done) and accusing Armie of coming in his pants.

"Can you not remind me?" He hisses and leans in, poking her in the shoulder. "I feel stupid enough about it and I don't need--" he notices her eyes flicker behind him. He sits up. Doesn't turn around.

"Oh, my mom is texting me," Saoirse says. Timmy watches as she pulls up her phone; there's no new messages.

"Where's my jacket?" Armie asks.

Timmy picks up his burger. Takes a bite and chews, chews, chews. Stares at his tray. "My locker," he says before taking another bite.

"Then go get it," Armie demands.

Timmy looks over his shoulder, pushes his food to the side of his mouth and grins. Holds up his burger, "I'm eating." Grimaces when Saoirse kicks him under the table.

_Throw your fucking food away and take him to your locker. Apologize. Tell him everything. Tell him you were a virgin, tell him you just wanted to do anything you could for his attention, tell him that you don't think he's dumb and that you like talking to him about Netflix specials more (okay, almost more) than when he sucks your dick. That you were secretly glad he was held back a year because it meant more time around him, even if the time was spent tossing insults back and forth instead of making out._

"Hurry the fuck up, I have tutoring," Armie spits. Slaps Timmy's shoulder hard enough that Timmy lurches forward. 

_He has tutoring. Timmy didn't know he had a tutor this year. Jesus. He would have tutored Armie if he'd just fucking asked._

Timmy's had the same locker combination since freshman year. "It's 8-28-19," Timmy says and takes a bite of mashed potatoes. They're gritty. He doesn't care if Armie steals his backpack or pours Coke on his homework. He just wants out of this.

"Great," Armie says and starts to walk away, then stops.

_Oh, shit._ It's been Timmy's combination so long he doesn't even think about why he picked it. Doesn't think about his freshman homeroom teacher saying, "Don't be an idiot and pick your birthday and favorite number or something stupid that anyone can guess. Make sure you'll remember it though."

Armie looks over his shoulder and blinks at Timmy. His entire face says, "Are you serious right now or just fucking with me?" He turns and walks off.

"I'm such an idiot," Timmy says to Saoirse, who has been pretending to look at her phone this entire time, but very clearly staring at the interaction. "My combination. I'm so stupid."

Saoirse puts her phone down and steals some of Timmy's mashed potatoes. "I'm lost."

"It's his fucking birthday and jersey number," Timmy snaps and pushes the tray away. "I picked it when I was a freshman and now he knows that I've had a God damn crush on him since Freshman year, even when he had bacne and braces. Fuck me."

Saoirse, always right, always fucking right, shrugs and says, "I told you to put that dumb jacket in the dumpster."

Timmy snorts. Buries his head in his hands.

_____

After school, Saoirse walks Timmy to his car, arms linked at their elbows. "So," she starts and Timmy loves how she has to walk so quickly to keep up with his strides. Wishes all of his relationships could be this easy, wishes he could just be in love with her, wishes he was her type (he knows her type and shudders and the thought. Shudders at her current crush.) It could all be so simple. "My parents are having this awful dinner party tonight."

Timmy grins and pulls his keys from his pocket. "So, you're telling me I should have my pajamas on and popcorn and pizza ready by eight? Oh, and that you'll be stealing vodka from your parents?"

Saoirse leans against Timmy's car as he unlocks it and tosses his bag inside. "A mind reader, that's what you are."

Timmy laughs. Leans in to kiss her cheek. "Okay, but I can't get too drunk. The invitational is tomorrow."  
_____

Timmy gets wasted.

"I can't explain it," Timmy whines. He's cross-legged in the middle of his bed, wearing _Monster's Inc._ pajama pants and a black t-shirt. A half-empty Gatorade bottle--

("That's disgusting," Saoirse said when Timmy drank the first few inches of the purple liquid, set the bottle down and motioned for the vodka."Like, truly nasty."

Timmy carefully refilled the bottle. Handed back the vodka and swirled the Gatorade bottle to mix everything. "Says the one taking shots of cheap vodka, and chasing it with box wine. Okay.")

\--is wedged in the space made between his crotch and his calves. "Like, I know you don't like him, but he was different when it's just us. He was sweet and like, told me things he didn't tell anyone else." He looks up at the stark white, smooth ceiling in his bedroom. Back over at Saoirse. Gives a lopsided grin. "He started bringing a blanket for us because I didn't like the grass stains."

She frowns and reaches for Timmy's Gatorade. He tries to swat her hand away, but she's too quick. Or he's too slow. Probably the latter. She uncaps it and takes a swig. Chokes. "That's truly disgusting, Timmy," she says, confirming her prior judgement. Tosses it back at him and he lets it hit his chest and fall into his lap. "You know what would have been really sweet? If he didn't try to fuck you by a dumpster."

"He didn't know it was my first time," Timmy defends. 

Saoirse closes her eyes. Reiterates. "He tried to fuck you. By a dumpster. Even if it wasn't your first time, it was your first time with him and that's just gross and slimy." 

"Whatever, it's all fucked up now. In like," Timmy pauses and stares at the ceiling. Furrows his brow and holds up his right hand. Starts counting his fingers. Pauses and starts over. Saoirse laughs and rolls onto her back, her head bumping his knee. He continues, "Eleven months? Ten months? I'll be in college, losing my virginity to like a fucking pre-med student. Not some idiot who can't even pass Senior Seminar and didn't realize that Washington D.C. and Washington state are two different places until sophomore year."

Timmy's tongue feels heavy and his teeth numb, but the thought still gnaws at him, _He's not dumb. No one gave him a chance. I didn't give him a chance._

"He did _not_ ," Saoirse gasps and flings a hand out, smacking Timmy's chest. She's not nearly as drunk as Timmy, who has started a three-base pyramid with his Gatorade bottles next to the bed, but her cheeks are flushed pink and her laugh echoes--too loud--when Timmy nods and confirms that fact.

"Did too. He asked Liz if she was going to be packing a rain coat for her trip to D.C. because it always rains, 'up there,'" Timmy flourishes his pointer finger upwards, "And D.C. is definitely down there," he sinks his finger down. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about this. Even Nick was teasing him about it."

At Nick's name, Saoirse sits up. She wavers a bit, then leans back on her arm. "Nick teased him?"

Timmy pats her bare knee. Smiles at the kittens on her shorts, and nods. "Yes, your Saint Nick actually made fun of someone." 

"He's not my anything," she blushes. "And even if he were--"

Timmy falls back against his pillows. "Saoirse, I'm probably already going to puke tonight, so I don't need you talking about how you want to fuck Nick. It's just nasty and you deserve better." 

"I have to listen to you talk about fucking around with Armie, even though _you_ deserve better," she notes. 

_Do I? Do I really deserve better? Rather, does it get better than Armie for me? Do I want anything better than Armie? Anyone but Armie? I need to stop drinking. Invitational. Rah Rah._

Timmy flourishes a hand to the ceiling. "Yes, but I have good taste." 

Saoirse slaps his cheek softly, then falls onto the bed next to him. Nuzzles into his shoulder and sighs when he wraps an arm around her. Presses his cheek to the top of her head.  
_____

In the morning, Timmy somehow makes it to school on time. He's showered, but his mouth tastes like purple vodka and his head is throbbing down to the nape of his neck. He keeps his sunglasses on during the twenty minutes drive to the invitational and doesn't speak. He makes it through warm-ups, lands a few round-offs, and is just about ready to suggest they do a quick run through when the urge hits him. 

Timmy sprints to the bathroom. Locks himself in the handicap stall. Takes off his uniform shirt as quickly as he can before draping himself over the toilet and expelling a night's worth of purple and regret. And pizza. "Fuck," he spits and reaches for some toilet paper. Wipes his mouth and dry heaves. He's too busy trying to will the rest of it up that he doesn't notice someone unlocking the door from the outside until--

_Who the fuck does that when someone is puking? Actually, who the fuck unlocks a stall door?_

\--the door swings open and Nick steps in. Reaches down and picks up Timmy's shirt. Hangs it on the door hook and swings the door closed. Locks it. 

_Of fucking course Nick corners someone in a bathroom stall. Mr. "I'm not getting in the middle of this."_

Timmy wipes his mouth again. Tosses the paper into the toilet. Falls onto his ass, one ankle under his thigh. Leg spread out across the floor. He hopes no one has missed the toilet and he's getting piss on his pants. 

"Well, glad to see you and Armie have the same coping mechanisms. When I left Armie, he was sleeping in my shower." Nick crosses his arms and leans back against the door. Cranes his neck to look in the toilet. "What the fuck did you drink?"

Timmy flushes the toilet. Takes a deep breath before reaching in his pocket, hoping to find gum. Jumps when a pack falls into his lap. "Thanks, now what the hell are you doing here?" He unwraps two sticks of gum and tosses them in his mouth. Pockets the pack. 

"Wow, rude." Nick laughs. "Basically, I'm here because I'm tired of watching my best friend make the same mistake over and over."

_You're the mistake, Timmy. You're just a fucking mistake._

Timmy tries to stand up but it makes his head throb. He leans back against the cool stall. "If you just came to tell me I'm an idiot, I already--"

"No, I came to say you're both idiots. Armie already got this lecture. I've never understood what you two get out of being assholes to one another, because I guess if I like someone, I try to be nice to them. With you two it's this constant battle for the upper hand and it's so tiring." Nick hits his head against the stall and says, "I told Armie I wouldn't say anything because--" Nick rolls his eyes. "Nevermind, 'because' doesn't matter. Armie's only had two boyfriends. He's only had sex with one of them and it didn't go well."

Timmy looks away. He can tell Nick is going to get in deep shit for saying anything, and that makes the whole thing even worse somehow. He doesn't even care about Nick, and yet here Nick is. 

"He's liked you since you were a freshman, Timmy. But then everyone found out about your camp escapades and he didn't want to get involved because he's not like that, okay? He didn't want you to just fuck him and move on. You might have noticed, but things are pretty cut and dry with Armie. Ask Ansel. He gave you a second chance--and a third this year--and you kept proving to him that you're just a--"

Timmy uses the edge of the toilet to pull himself to his feet. "A what, Nick?" He sways a little and is thankful when Nick reaches out a hand. Steadies him by the waist. "A slut? Isn't that what you and your friends have told everyone for almost four years? My first _anything_ was with Armie. Under the bleachers. He did tell you that's where we fucked around, right? That the only place he would take me was where no one would find us. Do you get how shitty that is? How humiliating it is that he just assumed I carry lube around because I'm ready to go all the time? Ready to fuck right by a fucking dumpster?"

Nick flinches at the words "lube" and "dumpster." Licks his lips and raises his eyebrows. Makes a face that tells Timmy he was not aware of most of this. "Wow, I--Tim." Timmy's sure if they spoke more than casual, "Hey, what's up," and waves in the hallways, Nick would be hugging him right now. He looks like a hugger. 

"Yeah, so fucking excuse me that I assumed he told the whole school he fingered me. Excuse me that I didn't want to talk to him. Excuse me that I was pissed off because I thought he had actually asked me on a real date and we were--" Timmy doesn't realize he's crying until Nick is wrapping his arms around Timmy's shoulders and pulling him down, which is a bit awkward. Timmy has to bend his knees a little, but he rests his head on Nick's shoulder. 

_He is a fucking hugger; I knew it. A good one._

"I thought we were going to like. Be a couple. And I've had this dumb crush on him since I was a freshman and he just ignored me like everyone else. And then the rumors started and suddenly he like. Noticed me, I don't know."

Nick hugs like he means it. Arms tight, firm. Somehow gentle. "He ignored you because he literally tripped over his feet every time he tried to talk to you. It was pathetic."

"This is all fucked up," Timmy whispers. Sniffles. "Sorry, I got snot all over your jacket."

Nick laughs. "It's just a dumb jacket. Listen, I'll talk to Armie, okay? I can get him to talk to you, but you need to tell him the truth, okay?" Timmy nods. Lets Nick squeeze him a bit tighter. "I keep saying too much, but Armie thought you were really, ugh, experienced. He never would have, well, you know. If he'd known it was your first time. It doesn't make it any better, but I feel you should know that. He's not that type of person."

Timmy sighs and pulls back. Wipes his eyes with his palms and reaches for his shirt. "Does it look like I've been crying?" He says as they step out of the stall, Timmy pulling on his shirt before leaning in to the mirror. "Judges hate when you cry."

"Cheerleading is so weird," Nick whispers before walking towards the door. Pauses. "Hey, this might not be the time, but could you put in a good word for me with your friend? Saoirse?""

Timmy laughs and nods. "Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem."

Timmy has a feeling Nick is going to fully insert himself in the middle of this whole ordeal and, yeah, okay. He approves of Saoirse's crush now. 

The Ponies win the invitational, even if Timmy looks like he's been crying. His smile hurts his cheeks and that counts for more points.


	5. Chapter 5

Timmy remembers just about everything. There were a few fuzzy times when he was a bit drunk or his mind was on an upcoming competition. When he could only focus on something Armie had said--

(They'd started out pretty heavy, Armie grinding down against Timmy, but then there was a rock and Timmy yelped. Laughed and rolled them to their sides. One leg trapped between Armie's. Their eyes locked and Timmy tried to continue, tried to tilt his hips into Armie's, but Armie moved a hand to Timmy's chin. Said, "I like looking at you," and ran his thumb along the crease of Timmy's lips. His eyes followed his thumb and Timmy swallowed. 

He's pretty sure Armie sucked him off that night, but perhaps he gave him a handjob. Maybe a mix of both; Timmy was distracted by, "I like looking at you," until he was closing his bedroom door that night.)

\--or something he did, like ducking his head under Timmy's shirt, stretching the fabric so he could kiss Timmy's ribs, his stomach. Flick his tongue against his belly button, then pull back. Hair messed up and a dumb grin on his face. Making sure Timmy's shirt was pulled back down because it was cold, and the crunched leaves around them were red, gold, and brown. 

But his favorite memory (the one he thinks about during study hall or long car drives. When he can't sleep at night or when he wakes up too early and closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep) is the one that didn't happen under the bleachers. In the hall, seconds before the tardy bell. Timmy already had a late slip signed by his math teacher and Armie was waiting at Timmy's locker. Not scrolling through his phone, not resting his head back against the metal like he was bored. Just waiting. He grinned when Timmy stood in front of him. Smiled when Timmy said, "Move, I need to get my books, asshole." 

"I thought I'd walk you to class, and now you're making me late," Armie joked. Stepped to the side and let Timmy spin his lock left, right, left. 

Timmy opened his locker and pulled out his copy of _The Jungle_ and a notebook. Shoved his textbook on the shelf and slammed his locker. Leaned his shoulder against it. "Well, I have a late slip, so--" and then Armie was leaning down and kissing him. Soft. Just lips. One hand barely cupping Timmy's elbow and the other coming up to hold Timmy's cheek. 

It was a second, maybe two. Up to three, but that was it. "You look good today," Armie whispered. 

Timmy coughed and stepped back. Started walking away, but his cheeks were warm. Steadily increasing to a burn. "I always look good, Hammer." 

_____

 

Armie's little brother Viktor answers the door while eating a bowl of cereal. "Oh, Hoover, hey," he says. Crunches loudly and holds the door open. "He's in his room." Of course Viktor would be the only person still calling him Hoover. Armie's not allowed to hit him in the face. 

"Which would be..." Timmy trails off as he toes off his sneakers. Lines them up next to Armie's which look like clown shoes compared to Timmy's. He's never been here before. 

Viktor points at the stairs and takes another bite. "Nice medal," he says and kicks the door shut. Shuffles back to the living room; Timmy hears SportsCenter. He looks down at the first place medal hanging around his neck and tucks it into his uniform, flinching as the cold surface touches his sternum. 

Armie's door is closed and Timmy hesitates to knock. Knocking means Armie telling him to come in, means standing in the doorway and not knowing where to look. Not knowing where to sit (or should he stand? Should he even be here?) or what to do with his hands. Knocking means not knowing what to say. 

_'Armie, I'm sorry I'm such an asshole all the time. I don't think you're dumb at all and I--' No, no. Don't even bring up the dumb part. One thing at a time. 'Armie, everything has been a lie. I just wanted you to notice me and the only thing I haven't lied about is how much I--' You're never even nice to him, Timmy. He probably doesn't even realize you actually like him. 'Hey, can we just start over? Is that a possibility?' Yeah, just ignore the prob--_

The door opens and Armie is there, taking up all the space. Looking down at Timmy. "Was Viktor a dick?" He steps back and Timmy hovers in the doorway. "I told him to be nice, but he's been in this fucking _mood_ since his girlfriend like, sat with some guy at lunch or some stupid middle school shit."

Timmy puts his hands in his pockets. He was expecting Armie to lock the door. At the very least, lean against the door frame, arms crossed and left eyebrow arched. Ask, "So?" or say, "You've got five minutes." Apparently, Nick can be persuasive. Which isn't that shocking; last year, he convinced the Homecoming Committee to have a Pixar theme. ("An Animated Adventure," turned out to be a great theme. Timmy was a Negative Nancy about the thing right up until he walked in and saw a six foot cut-out of Woody by the door that said, "Howdy, Partner," every time someone passed by.)

"He's a freshman," Timmy says because he doesn't know how to respond to small talk. He's not used to small talk with Armie, especially about Armie's family. The most he knows about Viktor is that he has been called "Armie's Brother" by just about everyone since the first day of his freshman year. Timmy feels for him; it took a few weeks before his teachers stopped gushing about Pauline every time they spoke to Timmy; on top of being invisible to everyone else, he was basically Pauline 2.0 to his teachers. 

Armie sits on the edge of his bed. "Yeah, which is why he needs to knock off this middle school bullshit." 

_Oh, the irony. We've been dancing around this middle school bullshit for almost four years. Or, I have._

"Right." Timmy looks around Armie's room. He wasn't expecting it to be clean. His backpack rests on his desk chair and his desk is neatly piled with notebooks paper. Timmy thinks he sees a short stack of college applications. His bed is made and there are lines from the vacuum on the carpet. Timmy focuses on Armie's socks. "Listen, I just came by to say I'm--"

"No," Armie cuts him off. Stands back up and in two strides, is in front of Timmy. Grabbing his wrist and pulling him into the room. Reaching behind him to close the door. "You don't get to apologize."

_You don't get to apologize. You don't get to apologize,_ the words repeat over and over in Timmy's head like "We should probably like, knock this off," and "Fuck, you love it don't you?" _You don't get to apologize because I can only forgive you so many times. You don't get to apologize because you are a liar and this entire thing has been a joke. You don't get to apologize because how can I believe you anymore? You don't get to--_

Armie's close enough for Timmy to smell the remnants of last night and this morning on his breath. It's slightly covered by mint, but the rancid smell sticks to Timmy's nostrils. It's similar to the taste in the back of his throat. He's sure Armie can smell him, too. He breathes through his nose; bites the corner of his lips and stares at Armie's shoulder. "Okay. I can just, like. I'll go, this was stupid, I'm--"

"Timmy, Nick said that you were--" Armie stops and loops a finger under the ribbon on Timmy's neck. Pulls, pulls, pulls, until the medal pops out of the collar of Timmy's shirt. He holds the medal in his hand and nods before letting it fall to Timmy's chest. Places the same hand on Timmy's elbow and walks backwards, guiding him to the bed. 

_Is this it? We're not going to talk? We're just going to make up like we normally do, clothes partially removed, rough hands and wet mouths, whispers of, "Fuck, please, please," while pushing the other's head down._

And then Armie's sitting again, one leg tucked under his body. Patting the spot next to him and Timmy sits down like a knee-jerk reaction. Timmy sits cross-legged and toys with the hem of his pants. They ride up, revealing his ankles and he remembers the night on the bleachers. Armie circling his ankle with his hands, rubbing his calf. Asking for just one kiss. One kiss in exchange for a date, in exchange for something real. 

"Nick said you wanted to talk. But," Armie reaches out. Rests his hand on Timmy's knee. "I want you to talk, but first I need you to know that I had no idea, okay? I never would have--"

"I know," Timmy interrupts. "It's fine" 

Armie's thumb rubs along Timmy's patella, left, right left. Stops. "It's not fine, Timmy." 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you and I'm an idiot for--"

Armie sighs and scoots a bit closer. Puts some force behind his grip on Timmy's knee. "Stop apologizing, please. I just want to know why. Why do you let people believe all that shit, Timmy? Why did you let me believe all that?" 

The medal is like a pendulum as Timmy fidgets. He grabs it and pulls it down, tight so the ribbon digs into the back of his neck. It feels like Armie's fingers pulling him down for a kiss. Feels like his collar, tight on his neck as Armie fists the front and twists. Rolls Timmy on top of his body. "I was no one," Timmy says. "And it felt like shit. You didn't even know who I was."

"I did," Armie huffs a laugh. "I knew exactly who you were. Who you are. I even tried to talk to you one time and you acted like you were scared of me."

(Timmy remembers. Third week of freshman year, Armie was walking by with Nick and Ansel. He stopped and told them to go on and started checking his pockets, his binder. Looked up at Timmy, who was just closing his locker. "Hey," he said, and slapped Timmy's shoulder softly. His hand lingered longer than a, "Hey!" and Timmy flinched. Backed up against his locker. "Do you have an extra pen? Or pencil? Crayon even?" His smile was broad and welcoming. Open, and Timmy wanted to lick his teeth. _What the fuck you want to lick his teeth now? Jesus, Timmy._

Timmy didn't. He only had his own pen, so he shook his head and walked off. Didn't look back. All day, week, month, he thought about the encounter. Decided if Armie ever asked him for a writing utensil again, he would give him anything he had and wink. "Make sure you get that back to me, okay?"

Which is something that would never have happened because first semester Freshman Timmy would always, always, always avoid talking to Armie Hammer. 

Armie never asked for another pencil.)

Timmy brings the medal to his chin and presses it against his skin. To his mouth, and bites the edge. Lets it drop. "Well, you had a funny way of showing it, then, because you ignored me. And then the rumors started and you were saying hi to me in the mornings. Joking with me in the locker room." He grins at the carpet. "You started calling me Sweet Tea. And then eventually you asked to hang out and I knew what that meant." His gaze moves from the carpet to Armie's hand cupped on Timmy's knee. To his chest, his chin. His eyes. "I don't regret it, okay? I wanted to be there with you. I wanted to _do_ that with you." 

Armie closes his eyes. Pulls his hand back and tugs on his earlobe. "I would have just hung out, Timmy." 

Timmy nods. Scoots a bit closer until his knee rests against Armie's thigh. "I know. But I'm glad my first time--" Timmy rolls his eyes. _This sounds so childish. You've had his cock basically in your throat, you don't need to act all innocent._ "I'm glad it was with you. I wanted it to be with you." 

Armie leans in, stops. "Good," he says, then kisses Timmy's right eyebrow. Sits back. 

Timmy cracks his fingers. Shimmies his shoulders and bounces his knee. "So, does this mean we're, like. You know, are we--"

"Going to the movies tonight? Yeah, but only if you go home and shower because you smell like," Armie leans in and takes a long whiff of Timmy. "Sweat, hairspray, vodka and," he takes another whiff. "Gatorade? Purple Gatorade?" 

Timmy's head falls back as he laughs. "Yeah, purple Gatorade." He looks at Armie and grins. Leans in, only to have Armie press a finger to his lips. 

"No, no, no. We're starting over, and I don't go around kissing boys I haven't even taken on a date." He lets his finger linger. "It's a new rule I've made."  
_____

Later, after Timmy has gone home and showered. Napped and called Saoirse (who is _not_ sold on Armie yet, but is more than happy to hear that Nick maybe, possibly, probably has a thing for her.) After Timmy has changed his outfit about seven times before settling on black jeans and a green sweater, Armie picks him up for the movies. Armie pays for the popcorn and lets Timmy choose some terrible, cliched teen romance that starts with drama in a high school hallway and ends with a romantic kiss in a gazebo lit by the moon and twinkling fairy lights. He holds Timmy's hand the entire time. He drives Timmy home and walks him to his door. As Timmy fumbles for his keys, Timmy says, "My parents are at some charity thing if you want to--"

And then Armie is turning Timmy around, cupping his cheek with one hand and his elbow with the other. Keeping a bit of distance between their bodies as he leans down and kisses Timmy's upper lip, lower lip. Chuckling when Timmy gives a shuddered hum of surprise. "I had a nice time tonight," Armie whispers against Timmy's mouth before running his tongue along the crease of his lips. Moving his hand from Timmy's elbow to the small of his back and pulling him a bit closer when Timmy opens underneath him. When Timmy meets Armie's tongue with his own, slower than anything they've ever done, including a two year build-up to whatever it was they used to have that, for all Timmy cares, is the forgotten past. 

Timmy doesn't care that there will be whispers on Monday, he doesn't care that Ansel will make remarks, he doesn't care that there may or may not be rumors about what happens after this kiss. He doesn't care, because Armie's mouth tastes like popcorn and Sno-Caps and his lips are still slightly slick with butter. 

When Armie pulls back, Timmy follows his lips for a moment, then blushes and falls back on his heels. "Um, yeah," he laughs and finds his house key. "Did you want to? Come up?"

Armie shakes his head and kisses Timmy's cheek. "No, we're taking it slow this time." He backs up and says, "Also, what are you wearing for Homecoming? I gotta get one of those," he snaps his fingers and purses his lips. "You know, those flower things."

Timmy laughs, "A boutonniere? Armie, you don't need to get me a--wait, we're going to Homecoming?"

Armie stops walking backwards. Cocks his head to the left and then walks back to Timmy. Mocks, "We're going to Homecoming?" and kisses Timmy again, this time, pushing him against the door.  
_____

By Monday, everyone knows. Armie's waiting outside the front doors for Timmy. "Morning," he says when Timmy stands in front of him. Holds the door for him before putting his arm around Timmy's shoulders and leaning down to kiss the top of Timmy's head. Timmy takes his hand out of his pockets and wraps his arm around Armie's waist, underneath his jacket. 

"So, you never answered my question, I realized," Armie says as they walk to their lockers. "What are you wearing for Homecoming?"

Timmy notices that Armie doesn't seem to notice anyone staring at them, even though just about everyone is. He keeps his head up and guides their bodies between groups of people, high-fiving a few of the football players, flipping Ansel off as he walks by. Casually rubbing the furthest edge of Timmy's clavicle with his thumb the entire time (and _Jesus, his hands are just so big._ Timmy blushes and bites his lip. Going slow is hard, and it's only been two days. He hopes Armie was just being polite and doesn't want to go _too_ slow.)

"I was thinking, like, grey and green?"  
_____

"I didn't even think you wanted to go to Homecoming," Timmy says. He's lounging on the couch of a dress shop, watching Saoirse's feet under the changing room door. She's barefoot. 

The door unlocks and starts to swing open as Saoirse says, "I didn't want to, but Nick wants to and--"

"Woah, woah, hey, woah," Timmy sits up. Blinks. Saoirse has been anti-formal dances since the womb, Timmy thinks, and this is just a lot to take in. "First, that looks amazing," he says because it does; Saoirse's in a knee lenth, soft salmon dress. "That's the dress, and I'm not just saying that because we've been here for two hours and I'm starving. Second, since when are you and Nick going to Homecoming? And why am I just learning this three days before?"

Saoirse turns to the mirror and nods at her reflection. Twirls once to see how the dress moves. "Well, he asked me last night."

"Last _night_? What was last night? Did you have a _date_ and you didn't even--" Timmy's hands are on his knees and he's about to stand about. He's about to cause a scene. He has told Saoirse every gory detail about his relationship with Armie and he is just _now_ finding out that she went on a date with Nick.

Saoirse rolls her eyes. "No, we were talking on the phone and Homecoming came up. He didn't have a date and said he would like to go with me. He can be very persuasive."

Timmy rolls his eyes and sits back. "No kidding."  
_____

Timmy can hear the crowd from the locker room. He's running late--

(They were in the library, even though school was out and the game would start in a few hours. Timmy was looking through Armie's transcripts from the year before and massaging the bridge of his nose. "Armie, I've never seen so many incompletes in my life." He looked up at Armie who stared at the table. "You don't need a tutor, you need to finish your assignments."

"I always run out of time," Armie said. "Like, I know I'm never going to finish tests on time and--"

Timmy reached across the table and put a hand on Armie's. "Armie, you realize they'll give you extra time, right? If you just talk to the school counselor about this, they have to allow extra time for you either before or after school."

"I have football," Armie said. "I don't have time to--"

"Blah, blah, blah, excuses. All I hear is, 'I'm not dumb, I'm just stubborn.'" Timmy smiled and squeezed Armie's hand. "I'll go with you on Monday." 

Armie rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Fine.")

\--and the football team is starting to file in. Timmy finishes tying his sneakers and stands up as Armie walks in. They smile at one another from across the room; Armie winks. 

Timmy still isn't used to being able to touch Armie in public. He probably could have before, but knowing he can now is almost too much. Still, they've made a rule that there's no "hanky panky" in the locker room. 

("Did you really just say 'hanky panky?' Timmy asked as they put their books away. He didn't let Armie finish. "Oh my God, you just guaranteed we will never hook up in the locker room, Armie.")

Timmy slams his locker and makes his way to the door. Lightly punches Armie's shoulder on his way out. 

The Ponies win 20-17; when the clock runs out, Armie pulls himself away from bear hugs and chest bumps, and walks across the field to Timmy. Pulls his helmet off and holds it to his side while he runs his fingers through Timmy's hair. Pulls his face up and kisses him. 

_Let them stare, _Timmy thinks.  
_____ __

___Armie <3: _so i have no idea how to tie a tie and my dad is not here__  
Armie  <3: _do I really need to wear it?_  
Timmy: _you don't have to wear it, but i do like a man in a tie_  
Armie  <3: _ugh, fine. i'll google it._

__Timmy grins and tosses his phone to the bed. Turns back to the mirror and straightens his own tie.  
_____ _

__"Let it be known," Nick points out, "I campaigned for a _Stranger Things_ theme, so don't blame this--" he gestures at the wildly tacky decorations and over the top wall hangings depicting what is supposed to be an Italian village, "--on me."_ _

__The theme is Midnight in Italy and Timmy doesn't care that it's over the top. He doesn't care that the music is bad or that Ansel won Homecoming King (Armie was disqualified; apparently, you can play varsity football for five years but you aren't able to be nominated twice for Homecoming King. Go figure.) He doesn't care that Armie only dances to slow songs and steps on Timmy's toes the entire time because minutes ago, as "Lady, Lady, Lady," started to fade, Timmy took his head off Armie's shoulder and bit his lip. Asked, "Hey, did you end up getting that hotel room? Asking for a friend."_ _

__And Armie kissed Timmy's temple. Squeezed his hand before answering, "No. Why, did you--" he leaned back a bit so he could see Timmy's face. "Do you want--"_ _

__"I want," Timmy assured him._ _

__"I like _Stranger Things,_ " Saoirse comments, "But, that doesn't really capture the idea of high school romance, does it, Nicky?" She casually drapes her hand on Nick's thigh and he puts his hand over hers._ _

__Armie and Timmy look at one another. Eyes wide. " _Nicky_?" they question in unison. Armie adds, "When the fuck did this happen anyways?" He darts his pointer finger from Saoirse to Nick, back to Saoirse. _ _

__Nick shrugs. "Relationships aren't as difficult as you two make them seem."_ _

__Saoirse sighs. "Seriously, you two," she rolls her eyes, then looks at the Nick. "Dance?"_ _

__Timmy squints at the two of them as they walk to the dance floor, hand in hand, laughing._ _

___I don't think I approve of this anymore._ _ _

__"I don't like this Nick and Saoirse situation," Armie murmurs. Squeezes Timmy's thigh. "Do you want more punch?"_ _

__Timmy shakes his head. Leans in and kisses Armie's jaw. It's barely a kiss, and Timmy could get used to this. Used to pressing lips against flesh because he wants to, because he can. "You know what I want," he whispers, and Armie's fingers tighten on Timmy's thigh.  
_______ _

__Timmy stares in the bathroom mirror. Runs a hand through his hair to try to smooth the curls._ _

__(The first thing Armie did when he opened the hotel room door was walk to the bed and yank the comforter off. "These things are filthy," he said and tossed it to the other side of the room. The second thing he did was sink a hand into Timmy's curls, effectively destroying a half hour of styling, before pulling him in for a kiss. It was nothing like the kiss from Timmy's front step, and at the same time it was nothing like under the bleachers. Hard, but with intent. Needy, but patient. Patient because they had all night. Check out was at eleven, so Timmy let Armie pull him back on the bed. Didn't even try to brace himself on the way down. Let himself fall.)_ _

__Timmy turns the water on and lets it run for a few seconds. Checks the temperature with his fingers before cupping his hands under the stream. Splashing his face once, twice. He looks up at the mirror and nods. Wipes his face off on the hand towel before opening the door and walking back into the hotel room._ _

__Armie is standing by the end of the bed. His thumbs are hooked in the waistband of his boxers, almost like he's been caught in the act of undressing. Like he had plans for the moment Timmy first saw him full naked, exposed. (Not that Timmy hasn't seem him naked before, but the locker room doesn't count. The locker room is quick glances and blurry lines. The locker room is a rush, a thrill, a gift that Timmy probably hadn't deserved.) But, then Armie is pulling his boxers down, eyes on Timmy and _Oh. OH_. This was Armie's plan all along. _ _

__He kicks his boxers to the side and stands up. Momentarily hides behind his hands, but then lets them fall to his side._ _

___Jesus,_ Timmy thinks. He doesn't care that he's staring. He's seen every part of Armie, more or less, but never all at once. Never in detail and never so close. He'd imagined this picture a lot, but it was nothing like reality. Long legs and tight calves, thighs thick with blond hair. Broad shoulders sloping to biceps that have picked Timmy up. Held him against a wall, a fence. Just held him. _ _

__"You're not saying anything," Armie says, and his hands start to move to his front, to cover his cock, and Timmy steps forward. Pulls his undershirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. He stops in front of Armie, brings their bodies as close as they can be without touching. Close enough that he has to look up to see Armie's eyes. To watch as his eyes dart from Timmy's eyes to his briefs. To his lips._ _

__Timmy is not used to looking up at people. Is less used to looking people in the eye. His gaze switches from Armie to the ceiling and he takes a deep breath. Popcorn ceilings, of course. Timmy exhales and wraps his hand around Armie's cock.  
______ _

__Timmy wishes he could spread his legs wider, wishes Armie could take up more space._ _

__Timmy's bends his legs, slides his heels up the bed. Opens himself further and stares up at the popcorn ceiling. Tries not to brace himself, tries not to tense, but finds himself repeatedly reminding himself to let go of the blanket. To stop clenching his fists, his abs. His hole. Attempts to focus only on the heat of Armie's mouth sliding up and down his cock. Pulling off to slide his fist up, down, up. Twist at the head before dropping back down. Following the path with his mouth._ _

__It's not a bad thing to focus on, but he can't shake the missing piece. He looks up, and watches Armie for a moment. The way his eyelashes flutter open, closed. His hollowed cheeks and the tension in his fingers, wrapped tight around the base of Timmy's cock. The flex of his free arm, the shift of the muscles as he reaches between his bent legs, back behind his cock that Timmy can barely make out under the shadow of Armie's body. The flex of his free arm as he--_ _

___Is he--he is. Holy shit._ _ _

__Timmy gasps Armie's name, pleads, "Stop, please, stop I'm going to--" and his stomach coils as Armie pulls off. Rests his cheek against Timmy's inner thigh. Eyes straining to meet Timmy's as Timmy's body trembles, as Timmy tries to edge himself back. He reaches down and runs a hand through Armie's sweat slick hair. Rubs a few strands between his thumb and forefinger until he is focused, until he can lift his head and watch the flex of Armie's hand again. "I thought," Timmy starts. Stops. Starts again, "I figured you would want to, you know."_ _

__Armie looks up. Rests his chin on the top of Timmy's thigh. The pressure is sharp. Armie's face contorts and his arm stills for a moment; Timmy wants to see. He wants to feel and taste, but Armie is reaching for the condom from the bedside table. Slapping it against Timmy's chest and nodding at him. Encouraging him._ _

__Timmy doesn't hesitate before tearing the corner of the wrapper.  
______ _

__Armie's not putting all his weight on Timmy's stomach, and _thank God for that.__ _

__"I've never," Timmy says when Armie reaches back. Grips the base of Timmy's cock and raises his hips._ _

__Armie guides the head of Timmy's cock to his opening, says, "Me neither. I mean," and Armie's mouth goes slack for a moment as he sinks down, pauses. "Not like this," he finishes._ _

___Not like this,_ Timmy repeats to himself. Smiles at the idea of being Armie's first, in one way at least. _ _

__Timmy's doesn't move. Keeps his hands still on Armie's thighs, even though every muscle in his body is tight. Even though every muscle in his body is aching to thrust up into Armie. He keeps his hands still and lets Armie take him in, inch by inch.  
______ _

__In the morning,--_ _

__(After the first time, Armie showered and Timmy waited about a minute before joining him. Before deciding it was okay to do so. Deciding to grab the soap and start washing Armie's back, his thighs. Slipping a hand between his ass cheeks and gently rubbing away the lube. Letting his fingers stop at his hole just long enough to feel where he's loose from his own fingers, from Timmy's cock._ _

__Later, they watch infomercials and eat Peanut M &Ms. Armie uses Timmy's thigh as a pillow and they share a soda. Timmy falls asleep for a few minutes at a time, waking when Armie's lips are on his knees, his belly, his cock. Waking when it's time for round two, three. Three and a half?)_ _

__\--they check out before eleven, but not before eating the continental breakfast. Timmy knows exactly what it looks like; two high schoolers in dress pants and undershirts. Wrinkled button-ups loose around their bodies and jackets slung over the backs of their chairs. He doesn't care that the elderly Southern couple keeps glancing over at them and shaking their heads. All he cares about is stealing bites of Armie's waffle._ _

**Author's Note:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr


End file.
